Hidden Ink (Montgomery Ink #4.5)(22)

He had brothers who had gone through worse. He knew others had gone through hell. PTSD wasn’t something someone could wear a ribbon for and call themselves a f*cking ally. It was something that afflicted way too many people, and yet others who didn’t understand said to just get over it.

He wouldn’t get over it.

And hell, if he got over it, what would happen then? Would he forget his brothers? Forget the ones he’d lost?

He growled to himself, frustrated with the path his thoughts had taken.

Fuck this.

He pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the shower. He pulled the lever to as hot as he could take it, and let it steam up the room when he took care of his business and brushed his teeth. Then he stomped into the stall and tried to wash away the guilt and sin covering him.

If only he had Hailey with him. She’d help. Whenever he was deep inside her, he forgot the pain and only thought of her. At the thought of her, his dick filled and throbbed. He fisted it, his mind going in a thousand different directions, but Hailey was at the forefront. He thought of her warm heat, the way she gasped as she came, the way she raked her nails down his back. He placed one hand on the shower wall and pumped into his hand, squeezing at the base and twisting up in rapid motions.

As he pictured her arching her back, her fingers in her * as she looked at him, he came.

Hard.

Spurts of come hit the shower wall then slid down in the now cooling water.

He took a shaky step back then roared. He punched the damn wall, his fist sliding through the poorly made tiles. Pain ricocheted up his arm, and he wasn’t sure if he’d broken his hand or not, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. He was dirty, stained. Scarred in more ways than one. He’d just f*cked his hand, thinking of a woman far too good for him.

He wasn’t worth anything. Just a man who should have died with his men instead of living to see another day…living to love her.

It wasn’t fair to those who had been lost.

It wasn’t fair to her.

As he pulled his hand out of the tile, he winced. Blood dripped down his skin and to the drain below. He flexed his hand, but he didn’t feel any burning pain so he figured he’d been f*cking lucky. He was a tattoo artist, damn it. He worked with his hands daily, and he could have easily just ruined everything in a blind rage.

And what would happen if he ruined it again with Hailey, huh?

He should break it off before they got too close. If he broke it off sooner rather than later, there might still be pieces to pick up so they could keep some semblance of friendship.

But first, he’d help her with her ink. He’d do it because he was an * and selfish enough to want it to be him to mark her body…even though he couldn’t mark her soul.

Not in the way they both needed.

He wasn’t good enough for that. And once Hailey realized that, it would all be lost.

And Sloane would be alone.

Where he deserved.

Again.





Chapter Six



There was something wrong with Sloane, but Hailey couldn’t figure it out. She ran her hands over her pants, keeping her eyes on him as he stared at his sketchbooks. He might have said all the right things, done the right ones, too, but there was something off with his eyes—as if he truly didn’t believe what he was saying.

Or maybe she was just thinking too hard. She did that all the time.

But there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

There was a gruffness to his voice that scared her.

Not in a way that meant pain, but in a way that meant…brokenness. She’d never heard it before, not even in the days when he’d lock himself in the Montgomery Ink office and focus on his sketches rather than the world. He’d do that for hours at a time when he didn’t have clients, then come over to Taboo with a need for coffee and food. She’d take care of him and make sure he had enough in him to make it home, but even then, the darkness in his eyes hadn’t been like it was now.

She didn’t understand it.

It couldn’t have been something she did, because, damn it, she hadn’t done anything. And she wasn’t the type of person to immediately blame herself for every little thing. But he was scaring her enough that she began to wonder if maybe she had done something.

And that worried her.

“There a reason you’re standing next to me hovering like you want something?” Sloane asked, though there was a smile in his voice. Perhaps not as bright as it had been only days before, but it was something. He set down his pencil and turned to her. He held open his arms, and she slid into them, wrapping her own around his neck.

“I didn’t know what to do with my hands,” she answered. Her gaze met his and she did her best to try and figure out what was wrong, but that wouldn’t happen until she asked him.

And knowing Sloane, he wouldn’t tell her.

Sloane’s mouth quirked into a grin and he lowered his hands to cup her ass. “I know what I can do with my hands, Hails. Why don’t you explore with your own and figure out what you need to do with them.”

She rolled her eyes but kissed him anyway, a soft kiss that turned into something much hotter, much deeper. Sloane’s hand molded her butt, bringing her even closer as they kissed. When she broke away, she had to catch her breath. Then she wiped the lipstick off his lips.